


The Mask You Wear

by A (AILiSeki)



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Alternate Universe - Phantom of the Opera Fusion, F/M, Multi, VFD Sugar Bowl Generation, Work In Progress, and a big supporting cast (ASOUE)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-18 08:50:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19331206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AILiSeki/pseuds/A
Summary: Once upon a time there was a happy couple. They had an adorable daughter called Beatrice. They didn’t own much, and their house was very flammable.One day their house went up in flames, and the couple perished. Beatrice's mother helped her out before going back for her father, and promised her she would never be alone. Her mother never came back.That day Beatrice lost her voice. But somehow, her mother kept her promise.





	1. Think of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Before you read this, you should know that this is a work in progress, an expression that here means this is just one view of what I plan to be a bigger story, and that I still have little of the other views planned. So keep in mind that I may change things in here when the full story is done, and that there will be references to characters and side-plots that won't be developed in this part of the story.  
> There will be spoilers for both the book and the musical of POTO, and possibly random references to other adaptations.  
> This story assumes that you know certain reveals from ASOUE that go all the way to the last book/episode. While it is an AU and so it will have its own twists and reveals, I think they won't be as fun to read if you don't know the original, and they may be spoiler-ish.

 

 

> _“How young and innocent we were!”_

* * *

 

“I won’t sing!” Esmé shouted, interrupting the rehearsal for what felt like the millionth time.

The members of the chorus and the dancers gave a collective sigh, almost simultaneously. Beatrice covered her mouth with her hand, trying to hold back a laugh at the displeased face Jacquelyn made.

Esmé interrupted the rehearsal all the time. There was always something that she didn’t like, someone who blocked her perfect angles or some costume that didn’t fit too well. Everyone was more than done with her drama (except maybe Nero, but the man would lay down on the floor for her to step on him), but no one could sing like her, and the public loved her, so the managers were stuck.

Frank, or maybe it was Ernest, stood from his seat.

“What is the matter this time, Esmé?”

Esmé made an indignant face. “Her.” She pointed to the general direction of Olivia, a girl from the chorus. “She is off tone.”

“I am not!” Olivia protested.

Frank (unless it was Ernest) frowned. “Please focus, Ms. Caliban.”

Olivia seemed about to protest, but the manager looked at her with that expression that usually ended with someone being fired. Esmé was irreplaceable. Olivia was not.

“From the beginning.” Ernest (unless it was Frank) ordered.

The rehearsal continued, and Beatrice went back to her work. The floor and the seats would not dust themselves on their own. As Esmé sang, she mouthed the lyrics along. Beatrice knew the whole play by heart. One of the perks of working in a theater. She could not afford the tickets, but she got to watch a lot of rehearsals.

As it would be expected, the song was interrupted by another of Esmé’s shrieks. However, this time it was followed by the characteristic sound of a sand bag falling on stage.

One of the managers stood up loudly. “This cannot be. Hooky!”

One of the stagehands rushed to the stage upon being called. His name was not Hooky, of course - it was just the nickname he got from his excellent impression of the character from the English play - but those people never bothered to remember his name. He raised his hands, defensive.

“It wasn’t me!”

“How come?” The manager almost shouted. It was probably Ernest, but it could be Frank. “Who was it, then?”

The stagehand stuttered. “I don’t know.”

“Your job is to know! Where were you?” He had that expression.

It wasn’t his job. Not really. He was just a boy, Beatrice thought, he couldn’t possibly know everything that happened up there. There were other stagehands.

His name was Fernald. He was sixteen. An orphan, he lived alone with his young sister. She had no one else in the world. He couldn’t afford to lose his job.

“Maybe it was the Ghost!” He blurted out.

That caused unease to quickly spread between the cast, soon becoming panic in some of them. Jacquelyn shrieked. Both managers needed to intervene to calm them down, but the atmosphere remained tense.

The Ghost was an old story passed down in the theater. It was blamed for every misplaced object and strange noise. Some people swore to have seen him (always a him!). There was no person in the City Theater who hadn’t heard of him.

That on its own was harmless. However, things stopped being funny when one morning ten years prior a man was found dead on stage, his head smashed against the floor and his foot hanging from a rope. It had been considered an accident, but no one could explain why that man, who wasn’t a worker nor a patron, was on a catwalk at such a time, when the theater was closed. The legend of the Ghost gained a sinister turn, and now most of the workers got shivers when hearing about him.

Beatrice looked away from the stage. The theater had stranger, scarier stories going on. Of that she was sure.

“I’m done!” Esmé shouted.

“What do you mean, you are done?” Frank, unless it was Ernest, asked.

“I mean I am done!” Esmé gave him a sharp look. “I am not taking a part on this anymore, Denouement! Good luck replacing Esmé Gigi Genevieve-”

“You can’t leave.” The manager interrupted her, serious. “You have a contract!”

The diva mouthed a couple of rude words in response.

“You can’t leave this, Esmé!” The other manager said.

“Watch me.” She replied with a smug smile. And like that she left. Nero still tried calling her back, using very flattering words, but Esmé didn’t look back.

“She will be back.” Ernest, or maybe Frank, said in a dismissive tone. “Go on with the scene.”

“We can’t go on with the scene!” Nero exclaimed. “It’s Esmé’s solo.”

“Someone must know the part.” Frank, or maybe Ernest, said.

There was a moment of silence. Someone must, yes, but no one wanted to risk replacing Esmé, not even for a rehearsal. When she came back she would be furious, and she could easily make any of the girl’s lives in the theater hell.

“Beatrice knows it, sir.” Jacquelyn said.

Beatrice raised her head to her friend, a mix of scolding and fear on her face. It wasn’t a lie, she did know the part, but she wasn’t a singer or actress. She was just the cleaning girl.

“Who is Beatrice?” Frank (or Ernest) asked. Jacquelyn pointed to her, and Beatrice just wanted to disappear.

“The cleaning girl?” Ernest (or Frank) raised his eyebrow.

Jacquelyn smiled. “You have to hear her, sir! She is very talented.” At the identical skeptic looks she received, she added. “Just for the rehearsal. Since no one else volunteered.”

The managers exchanged a look. “Very well,” one said. “Come to the stage, Beatrice.”

Beatrice hesitated before leaving her broom and walking to the stage. She could feel the rest of the cast staring at her, judging. Why couldn’t Jacquelyn keep her mouth shut?

The managers gave Nero the sign, and he started the orchestra. Beatrice took a deep breath, and sang.

Esmé didn’t go back that day, and she didn’t show up to any other rehearsal. Beatrice took her place in all of them.

When the play’s debut came, she sang in front of the whole audience.

* * *

At the time this story is set, the City Theater, linked to its traditions, still gave its boxes to important families. Boxes 1 and 3, side by side, were given to the Arizona royal family. Their residence was far, so they didn’t attend to many performances, but the boxes remained exclusively to them as a courtesy. Box 2, on the opposite side, belonged to the Duchess of Winnipeg, who was often there with her daughter, Ramona. Ramona was already old enough to marry, but never showed interest to any of the suitors that came to her. Instead, she preferred going to theater and chatting with the ballerinas after performances.

Box 4 was given to the Count and the Countess of Feu, who attended with their son, Olaf. Olaf was younger than Ramona and much more interested on art itself. He often joked with his friends that had he not been born in the position he was, he would have been an actor. As it was all he had was his fortune and a bureaucratic position in the Official Fire Department, but no chances of following this passion.

Box 5 was the odd one. It hadn’t been given to a member of royalty, but to a man named Bertrand Markson. Markson was an entrepreneur that worked with automobiles and had three children. After his passing, his box was shared between his three children. All three were unmarried, and except for the youngest, Solitude, they had no family of their own. Solitude had an adopted son, named after her father. On the day of Beatrice’s debut, it was the two of them on box 5.

Beatrice had a singular talent and enchanted all the audience, but she had the strongest effects on the hearts of the three youngest occupants of the boxes: Ramona, Olaf and young Bertrand.


	2. Angel of Music

## Angel of Music

> _“He’s with me even now”_

 

Once upon a time there was a happy couple. They had an adorable daughter called Beatrice. They didn’t own much, but they were happy.

Beatrice was loved. She liked reading and singing and helping her parents.

They lived in a very flammable house. Beatrice didn’t know what “flammable” meant until the day the house went up in flames. Her mother helped her out before going back for her father, and promised her she would never be alone. Her mother never came back.

That day Beatrice lost her voice. But somehow, her mother kept her promise.

* * *

“I don’t get why you were so afraid, Beatrice.” Jacquelyn said, gently. “You were brilliant! You owe nothing to Esmé.” At the mention of the diva, she made a face.

Beatrice couldn’t help but giggle.

Jacquelyn was like a sister to her. Back when she lost her parents, she would have been all alone if it wasn’t for Jacquelyn’s mother, who took her in and cared for her for all her years. The trauma of watching her house going up in flames made Beatrice unable to speak for years, and all the adults thought she was stupid. But Mrs. Scieszka had been patient and kind, and Jacquelyn always made sure Beatrice wouldn’t feel lonely, and with their support she eventually found her voice again. Well, theirs and someone else’s.

“Really, I knew you could sing, but I didn’t know you were so talented!” Jacquelyn continued. “Did your parents teach you all of this?”

Beatrice smiled. They taught her a lot, but she also had a little secret. She thought for a moment if she should tell Jacquelyn that unbelievable story.

“I have a friend who helps me.”

“A friend?” Jacquelyn asked. “Who?”

“I don’t think you know him.”

“What is his name?”

“I don’t know.” Beatrice said honestly.

Jacquelyn laughed. “Oh, Beatrice.”

“It’s true. I meet him in the library. He gave me lessons.”

“How does he look like?”

Beatrice blushed slightly. “I don’t know.”

“Are you telling me this friend is invisible?” Jacquelyn seemed ready to laugh again. “Beatrice!”

“No, he’s-”

Before Beatrice could explain herself, the door to the dressing room opened. It was Josephine Anwhistle, the dance director. She was a very stern woman. She wasn’t much older than Beatrice and Jacquelyn, but her mourning clothes and her seriousness gave her an air of authority that no one questioned.

“Jacquelyn Scieszka.”

“Mrs. Anwhistle.”

“Are you a dancer?”

Jacquelyn lowered her eyes and nodded.

“Then come practice.”

Jacquelyn mumbled something as she left Beatrice’s dressing room. Josephine stayed behind, and gave Beatrice an unfathomable look.

Beatrice and Josephine weren’t friends, but Beatrice had nothing against the dance director. Though both worked on the theater, their works were completely unrelated. Still, Beatrice knew Josephine to be a kind person under the grief that surrounded her and the strictness towards the dancers.

“Be careful, Ms. Baudelaire. You are approaching a dangerous territory.”

Beatrice frowned. "I don't know what you mean."

Josephine gave a small nod, and then reached for a small piece of paper inside her pocket. "I was told to give you this."

She gave Beatrice the paper and then left before she could ask what that was.

Beatrice unfolded the paper. It had a single sentence written in a foreign handwriting.

 


	3. Little Lotte

> _“Those picnics in the attic.” “Father playing the violin.” “As we read to each other dark stories of the North.”_

_"Ms. Baudelaire, where is your red scarf?"_

Beatrice read the sentence over and over, unable to imagine what it could mean.

The door to her dressing room opened again. This time, entered a tall, finely dressed man.

"Beatrice Baudelaire, where is your red scarf?" He asked.

"Excuse me?" She asked, confused but mildly amused. He looked somehow familiar.

"You can't have lost it. Not after all the trouble I went through to get it back." He continued.

It all came back to her at once. The red scarf, knitted by her mother, being blown by the wind. And the little boy who jumped into the sea at Briny Beach to get it back for her. That summer, one of the best ones in her life.

"Olaf! It is you!" She exclaimed, a big smile on her face.

Olaf opened his arms, and she jumped into them for a warm hug. It felt so long ago. He was different now, taller than her, more handsome. But he still had the same kind blue eyes she remembered.

"I couldn't believe it when I saw you on stage." He said. "So this is where you have been hiding."

Beatrice's smile lost a little of its light as she remembered the reason why she never met him since that summer. Still, it warmed her heart to know he still thought of her even after all this time.

"I'm sorry. I heard about your parents." He added.

"Mother managed to get me out of the house. She saved my life." She said, getting teary.

"They would be proud to see you today." Olaf said. "You have so much talent, Beatrice."

"I didn't get here alone." Beatrice smiled again. "Mother told me I would never be alone. And I haven't been."

"Surely not! A girl like you would never be alone. Everyone is charmed by you."

"No, Olaf." She shook her head. "Do you remember the stories we used to read together?"

"Of course I do. Why don't you come with me for dinner? My parents will love to meet you again. And you can tell me everything that happened during these years."

Beatrice grew serious. "I'm sorry, I can't go."

"Why not? I promise we won't keep you up late." Olaf said.

"That's not it." She lowered her eyes. "It's just... things have changed."

Olaf nodded. "Very well. Congratulations on your success, Ms. Baudelaire."

And like that, he left.


End file.
